


Remedial Conversation Analysis

by unearthlyandradiant



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: (some internalized homophobia), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e19 Critical Film Studies, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unearthlyandradiant/pseuds/unearthlyandradiant
Summary: “Jeff, you said we’re still friends. Friends tell each other the truth.”“You’re pretty keen on getting the truth from me, for someone who couldn’t even show up to dinner as himself,” Jeff scoffs.Abed’s eyes widen minutely. “So youareupset.”“Fine,” Jeff snaps. “Maybe I am. I pretty much bore my dumb, stupid soul to you in there, Abed. Forgive me for feeling like a fucking joke.”Or: Abed and Jeff stay behind after Abed's surprise party and have a Conversation.
Relationships: Abed Nadir/Jeff Winger
Comments: 21
Kudos: 73





	Remedial Conversation Analysis

**Author's Note:**

> so here's what happened - i watched critical film studies & my brain was like: good for jeff that he immediately got over the fact that abed (accidentally) made him look like a clown in that restaurant, but that could not be my RSD ass. and then i may also have thought about them kissing. here's that story.

They’d had better parties, they’d had worse parties.

Troy had been the first to doze off, rosy and wine-drunk, and had been carefully ushered into the back seat of Pierce’s car. Britta, tipsy on overpriced Merlot and notions of sisterhood, had felt called to leave next, in order to walk a very giggly Annie home safely; and Shirley, content and sleepier than she’d like to admit, had been beckoned by the thought of her warm bed (and the last slice of apple pie she’d hidden in the back of her fridge) – until eventually, Jeff is alone with Abed for the third time that night.

Cold pools of streetlight gather on the dark asphalt of Main Street as it bleakly stretches before them. Its inhospitable air forces Jeff backwards, makes him crowd close to the restaurant – but the empty building lends him no reprieve from the late-March wind cutting through the avenue, and the cold pierces straight through his flimsy ( _but stylish_ , his mind supplies) jacket. He pretends he doesn’t shiver.

Beside him, Abed cuts a striking silhouette under the golden glow of the street lights – all long legs and dark coat, leaning against the wall with his head tipped back against the bricks. Straight from one of his noir films, Jeff thinks; the only thing missing is a cigarette.

He thinks of slim fingers, smoldering embers – but the thought makes him feel wrong somehow, and he pushes it away.

 _God_ , he wants a scotch.

(Or two. Maybe three.)

(He’s not sure when that became acceptable.)

Jeff realizes his façade is slipping when Abed tilts his head towards him, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“You’re still upset.”

(There’s no upward inflection, but Jeff likes to think he knows Abed’s questions from his observations by now.)

“I’m not,” he lies.

“But you’re not talking to me.”

Jeff shrugs. “I’m just tired. It’s been a weird day.”

“You’re also turned away from me, though. That’s usually a sign of detachment or anger. Plus, you’re making me take a night cab home instead of offering me a ride, which I don’t really mind, but I can see how it would be rude…”

“I’m waiting with you, aren’t I?” Jeff sighs. He’s praying his put-on surliness will be loud enough to distract Abed from somehow hearing the things Jeff can’t say, _shouldn’t_ say – things like _I just want you to be safe_ and _I wouldn’t leave you alone in the middle of the night but as soon as that car door slams behind me I’m gonna scream and I don’t want you to be there for that_ and _if this fucking cab doesn’t show soon I think I might cry_.

The strategy only fuels Abed’s ( _hateful, nosy, charming_ ) curiosity, though. After all, he’s never been one for averting his gaze out of mere courtesy, not when there’s people to observe, a universe to experience. One corner of his mouth curves up, in that ( _odd_ , _indecipherable_ , _charming_ ) way it does sometimes, the way that makes Jeff want to ki–

“Jeff, you said we’re still friends.”

“We are.”

 _Of course we are_.

“Friends tell each other the truth.”

He’s so goddamn _earnest_ all the time, and it twists Jeff’s insides into a horrible mess of shame and adoration and guilt and _want_ that he doesn’t know where to put down, a mess that makes him say things he doesn’t mean and things he means too much, that makes him want to run and sink his claws into soft flesh at the same time, that makes him want to keep Abed at an arm’s length and beg him to never stray further than that.

All that comes out, though, is a bitter scoff. “You’re pretty keen on getting the truth from me, for someone who couldn’t even show up to dinner as himself.”

Abed’s eyes widen minutely. “So you _are_ upset.”

“Fine,” Jeff snaps. “Maybe I am upset. I pretty much bore my dumb, stupid soul to you in there, Abed. Forgive me for feeling like a fucking joke.”

“I don’t think you’re a –”

“Oh, I know what you think. I know I’m supposed to be the overly guarded one in your little show, and every once in a while we have a special episode in which someone gets to crack me open to show that _wow, he’s human after all_ , and then we all laugh it off and move on. You think that’s fun for me, though? I’ve systematically cut off everyone who knew me before the age of twenty-five. I didn’t even think I knew how to talk to anyone like this. I’ve genuinely never done... whatever tonight was, because I compulsively keep _everything_ to myself. And the one time I start to believe that maybe, just _maybe,_ I don’t have to – it turns out it was all just a game to you.”

His voice almost breaks, embarrassment and nauseating self-hatred filling his throat. He can see Abed’s eyes grow even wider with concern, and he wishes he could stop, but he can’t; the words rush out of him like a flood he thought he learned to tame long ago.

“You want to know the truth?” he continues. “Fine. The truth is I feel disconnected from other people pretty much all the time, and I don’t know how to stop it – but who cares anyway? I say my lines, and they say theirs. We all play our parts, and we go home and don’t think about the – the inherent fucking loneliness of human existence. And you don’t have to feel the same way – for your sake, I hope you don’t – but I guess I hoped you might at least understand how it feels. Hoped I wasn’t the only one. You know, I go on plenty of phony dates, and that’s fine, but you said you wanted me to be real tonight, and then you turned me into yet another character. So. You want to know the truth? It’s simple, really –”

Suddenly the fight evaporates, leaving him slumped against the wall with nothing but the usual emptiness and bone-deep shame.

“I thought someone cared enough to want to see _me_ , but you just... weren’t very interested.”

Quiet.

A tiny furrow forms between Abed’s brows as the silence stretches on, and Jeff is about to give in and run when –

“Jeff, if this were a TV show, do you know what would’ve struck me about tonight’s episode?”

His shoulder is warm against Jeff’s, now.

Jeff shrugs tiredly. “The visceral trauma of seeing Pierce dressed as the Gimp?”

“No, but close. It would be that everyone we saw tonight was in costume, except for you.”

“You don’t like my suit?”

“Yeah, because it’s _your_ suit. You like wearing it when you want to show what you think is the best version of yourself. It’s different from our friends in Pulp Fiction-outfits, the waiter in a uniform – even me, in my neurotypical cardigan.”

“Your wha-”

“The point is,” Abed goes on, unbothered, “that you’re the only person in this whole episode who showed up as himself, even before I tricked you into doing the whole ‘real conversation’ spiel at all.”

“They’re just clothes, Abed,” Jeff deflects. “Coincidence. Stuff like that doesn’t mean anything in the real world.”

“Everything means something,” Abed shrugs. “Sometimes we just have to create the meaning ourselves, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“God, you’re gonna rock that Oscar speech, aren’t you?”

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

He’s _close_ , closer than anyone has a right to be while dissecting someone so mercilessly. Jeff can almost count the little freckles dotting Abed’s nose, and forces himself to look away; the beating of his heart feels loud in the deserted avenue, and it’s a long few seconds before Abed speaks again.

“Jeff, did you think this was a date?”

Blunt and to the point, as ever. For the first time, Jeff notices how hard it can be to come up with a good lie when the stakes are this personal, and he knows more than anyone that feigned ignorance is a loser’s defense, but –

“Uh, what?”

 _Dumbass_.

“You said, ‘I’ve been on a lot of phony dates’. When I invited you to dinner, did you think I was asking you on a date?”

“No,” Jeff scoffs lamely.

“Were you hoping it was?” Abed presses.

Jeff’s throat closes up, and he just stares at the ground.

Abed makes the tiniest sound, and suddenly he’s _right there_ , one blazing hand cupping Jeff’s face, and he’s –

A small noise of surprise escapes Jeff’s throat as he’s gently pushed against rough brick, soft but insistent lips meeting his own. The kiss is chaste, a soft drag of lips, but Abed is so _warm_ where he’s pressed up against him, and stronger than he looks; Jeff wants to melt into him, almost forgets that he shouldn’t –

Abed pulls back before he can even finish the thought, leaving him exposed and wide-eyed.

“Go out with me again,” Abed says breathlessly. “I’ll take you to dinner, for real this time. I’ll make it right.”

...Oh.

“Is that what this is about?” Jeff glares, trying to crush the ice-cold flutter in his chest to a pulp. “You shouldn’t kiss people just to make them happy with you, you know. It’s unhealthy. And you don’t have anything to make up for. You already apologized.”

“But I really am sorry –”

“Good for you. I still don’t need your pity kisses, or your pity dinners, or... whatever you’re trying to pull.”

“I know, I – What I was going to say,” Abed rambles, “is that I _am_ sorry. Not just for ruining your surprise party, like I said at the diner... I’m sorry for myself, too. I spent the whole night caught up in a homage when I could’ve been having a _real_ -real conversation with you. I’m sorry I wasted that.”

His hand absent-mindedly travels from Jeff’s shoulder to his jaw, though Abed himself doesn’t seem to notice. He’s frowning intently, analyzing Jeff’s expression.

“Go out with me again,” he repeats. “No homages, promise. I really like getting to know you – and I know you have issues with that, because you’re terrified both of never being truly known and of being known but found lacking, or whatever –”

 _Ouch_.

“ – but I really like you, Jeff. I’m sorry I wasn’t in the right headspace to let you get to know me in return, but... I do. That part wasn’t pretend. Never has been.”

Something tiny unfurls and blooms in Jeff’s chest. He thinks it may be happiness, or something equally banal.

There’s chatter in the background, so Abed’s probably still talking, but his eyes are pretty distracting – and if Jeff’s honest, so is his mouth.

“Abed,” he interrupts, and then the words get stuck in his throat – so instead, he just leans in.

This time, Jeff doesn’t even try not to lose himself in the sensation. He’s pretty sure he’s past that point, anyway: his lips open of their own accord, and Abed’s mouth is warm and sweet. One of his hands is cradling the back of Jeff’s head, making sure his hair doesn’t catch on the bricks again, a gesture so gentle Jeff could cry. Abed apparently can’t decide what to do with the other one – his fingers are sweeping over Jeff’s cheekbone, scratching the back of his neck, rumpling his dress shirt as he grabs his waist and makes him sigh against him. Jeff’s own hands blindly come up to cling to Abed’s shoulders, hardly daring to do anything but hold him close. Abed cards a hand through his hair, making him shiver, and –

“This is where the scene cuts away,” Abed whispers.

Jeff can’t help but smile against his mouth. “What happens after that?”

“Well, the implication is that whatever isn’t shown is too inappropriate to be depicted on-screen, so usually discretion shots are a way of signifying two people had sex. But for characters of the same gender, the bar of what’s seen as ‘inappropriate’ is sometimes a little lower. It’s a leftover from the days of the Motion Picture Production Code –”

“I don’t think this is inappropriate,” Jeff whispers, and finds that he means it.

Abed smiles softly. “You don’t?”

Jeff just shakes his head and hides his face in Abed’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his friend’s back and breathing in the scent of cinnamon and soft wool. He’s not sure how long they stay like that – just knows that he’s not inclined to let go even when the headlights of Abed’s cab round the corner and the driver honks his horn.

“I could still drive you home,” he mumbles. “I’ll just give that guy a tenner and –”

Abed cuts him off with another light kiss. “I’m – I’ll probably just take this opportunity to lean my head against the cab window and listen to my indie romance playlist. I... kind of need some time to decompress right now,” he trails off.

“Thank God, me too,” Jeff admits, and Abed actually laughs out loud.

“See you on Monday, Jeff. Or... you can text me. Get some actual use out of that texting plan.”

And just like that, he’s gone – the car door slams, the engine grumbles to life, and Jeff is alone under the night sky.

Somehow, he thinks as he sets off towards his car, the wind doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i hope you liked it! i love to learn & improve, so literally any kind of feedback (positive or constructive, and no matter how small) is super welcome, either in the comments or over on tumblr @luckycharmsandtv. or just come and yell about community with me, i'm always up for that too!


End file.
